Hear it from the Grapevine People
by Within Lives Darkness
Summary: Jack's staff is sentient. There are so many things wrong with that fact—and it's not just the sexual innuendos that come with. (Or: times of need in which a certain winter spirit's staff has saved his ass. Also, in which everyone has speculated about what it is that makes Jack Frost so everlasting.) Also available on AO3.
1. Prologue

**Title:** _Hear it from the Grapevine People  
_ **Author:** WithinLivesDarkness ( AO3: Bloody_Jeans)  
 **Rating:** K+, possibly T  
 **Full Summary:** Jack's staff is sentient. There are so many things wrong with that fact—and it's not just the sexual innuendos that come with. (Or: times of need in which a certain winter spirit's staff has saved his ass. Also, in which everyone has speculated about what it is that makes Jack Frost so everlasting.)  
 **Pairing:** Jack Frost/E. Aster Bunnymund (M/M)  
 **Extra Notes:** This story is also available at Archive of Our Own. Sorry beforehand for any mistakes; I have no beta except myself.

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 _ **Hear it from the Grapevine People**_  
 **PROLOGUE**

 _It was never supposed to turn out this way._

 _In all the stories, the hero always defeated the villain in the end, even if it took decades for that to finally happen. It was never the other way around. After all, battles were told by their victors._

 _However, it had never really understood how awful it felt to be on the losing side, whether right or wrong. It used to believe it was right, most likely still would if it remembered exactly what its options were. It used to think that it would eventually triumph over someone it didn't recognize anymore—very familiar, always lingering at the edge of its conscious, but never a full visual._

 _That was back when it had_ thoughts _and_ feelings _and_ beliefs _._

 _Back when it had a_ name _._

 _Now, it was nothing more than a stage prop. Only slightly better than a sweeping broom, though perhaps more useless. It had become an accessory of no actual value to anyone, and it could sense its own failing powers, dwindling away in the past couple units of time—_ seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months? _It couldn't tell exactly._

 _The only relief there was, was that it could feel nothing else except itself, drifting in an empty void. There was_ no pain, no happiness, no cold, no warmth—

 _That is until it suddenly_ felt _._

 _Something small and alive and_ precious _wrapped around it—_ her _. 'It' was a 'her', she found out._

 _But what was this encircling the bottom part of her? (What was also strange was the fact she could actually feel again after all this time—five years, to be exact. Knowing the time made her feel happy for some reason, though it didn't lessen the overwhelmingness.)_

 _Curious, she couldn't resist hoping just one last time, gathering her senses and surging them into her face—a face she didn't remember she had before now._

 _Slowly, her eyes opened..._

And met a pair of young brown ones.

 **END PROLOGUE.**

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 **Author's Note:** Please don't forget to leave some feedback. Reviews especially motivate me. :)


	2. Chapter 1

_**Hear it from the Grapevine People**_  
 **CHAPTER ONE**

The first time it happened, Jack was eight years old, clumsy, and set on a mission in the midst of one of the deadliest snowstorms in the past three decades.

Winter fell around him in thick currents, pulsing angrily, whipping at his overgrown hair, and tugging on his raggedy jacket and trousers. Jack barely noticed it. His mother was back at the cabin with his baby sister, Emma, who was just struggling through her first winter—and what a hard one it was at that.

His parents were afraid she'd get too cold—hypothermia, his father called it—and something very bad would happen to her—his mother didn't elaborate, but Jack understood better than they thought.

He was many things—a prankster, a child, a big brother, a son, a clutz—but one thing he wasn't was dumb. One of the older boys in his class, before school had been cancelled for the whole season, had said his little cousin had gotten the hypo-something two years ago and passed away while everyone was asleep. His aunt and uncle had woken to an unpleasant surprise in the morning.

Jack wouldn't let that happen to his family. He would be the best big brother ever even if it killed him.

With his father, Jack had set out of the cabin almost an hour ago when the snow had briefly died down, going out into the woods surrounding their home to collect a lot more firewood. His father had split up from him a couple minutes ago, saying he wanted to cover more ground before the blizzard returned full force.

Jack's task was to search the north side of the forest facing the cabin while his father would scavenge through all other directions, far more skilled at finding dry wood than the young boy who'd only gotten a brief description that night of it.

Both of them were desperate to find some way to warm Emma more. Their mother had already wrapped her up in all the available cloths she could find, including her own dress, and had snuggled the baby up to her body, but that hadn't helped much. That's when the two Overland males stopped feeling useless and started being determined to help.

It didn't matter that frostbite was slowly coming onto their fingers or that they themselves might get sick once the winter passed. What mattered was saving Emma from the Thompson boy's fate two years ago.

However, unfortunately, Jack had only uncovered a couple sticks the proper size and dry enough to light. It wasn't that he hadn't searched well enough—no, Jack had peeped into every hole in every tree, shoved his hand down any crannies in the ground, scoured below all the big rocks, and even climbed to the middle layer of the thick forestry to find the driest parts.

Still, only a measly amount was currently bundled up in his arms. There wasn't much salvageable in spite of his ferocity in searching.

He hated to admit it, and he hated even more so to give up what seemed too early—but the young boy knew it was pointless. He was wasting time now. Something was better than nothing at all. If the blizzard decided to let loose before he reached home, all his efforts would be destroyed, and Emma would be...

No, Jack had to get home—quickly—despite not having a lot of dry wood. It would have to be enough, anyway. Hopefully, his father had found more.

So the eight-year-old huddled the precious wood to his chest, hunched his shoulders, and turned around. Just as he was half-way home, the snowstorm started blowing in more, and he pushed through the opposing wind that blew him backwards occasionally. That was fine, so long as his front side—and therefore the wood— didn't get wet.

However, just as Jack was taking another step forward, another step closer to home, a sudden gust of blew him forward unexpectedly instead. Yelping, the boy went down on his shoulder, rolling in mid-air so the wood would be safe. As he crashed and sunk into the snowy ground, a sudden crack was heard coming from his leg, and sharp pain swept through him.

Tears filled his eyes as the boy struggled to sit up, ankle jutting out oddly and burning. Whirling snow blocked his vision as he looked back, but Jack could make out a large rock he hadn't before and had then tripped on. He recognized the pain shooting up from his ankle, either broken or sprained but definitely not fit for work.

Jack struggled to sit up and glanced in front of him again. He could see a large object close by, hidden by the tops of the trees, but too wide and tall to be a tree or a boulder. It was the cabin, and it was so, so close. Emma was close. He could make it if he pushed himself!

Determined, the eight-year-old hugged the bundles of dry wood tighter and searched the ground surrounding him for something similar to a cane. His hand grappled the snow below, and he let out a triumphant cry as it met something long and hard. Tugging, Jack pulled out a long, crooked branch about the height of him resembling a shepherd's crook.

The boy forced himself to stand with his makeshift cane, making sure his precious collected wood was still intact, and tried taking a step forward. Jack collapsed onto his knees immediately, grunting, before pushing up again and stumbling his way through the thick snow with a hurt ankle, going slower this time. The wind continued to oppose him, but now he had a helping hand and was able to go on further.

Soon, the cabin came within his immediate sight, and the boy hurried his pace, tripping again and again but staying upright. Jack let out a triumphant shout, laughing in relief, as he spotted his mother running out of the cabin.

"Jack!" she yelled, dashing over to him as fast as she could. The eight-year-old fell to knees before her, grinning as he presented the bundle of dry wood. His mother accepted the gift with happy tears in her eyes.

However, her attention immediately shifted back to her son as he collapsed onto his side with a croak, wrapping his body around his long, makeshift cane. "Jack!" she cried out.

The last thing the eight-year-old saw was his father rushing out from the woods behind the cabin, heading towards them. A large and familiar hand soon grasped Jack's cold cheek, and a gruff voice murmured, "It's okay, Jack. You've done good, my boy."

A sudden weightlessness overtook him as he was picked up, and Jackson Overland finally allowed himself to drift with a faint smile gracing his blue lips.

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"Anything new?"

"No. Things are too dull these days."

"Agreed."

"Well, actually, there is one thing..."

"Oh?"

"Couple days ago, a family of four was set to die by a blizzard, but just after the Reaper came by to collect their souls, something changed. They all survived."

"Huh. That's nice, I guess. Heartwarming. How about we put it on the short tales leaf?"

"Might as well make it the main grape. We have nothing else to report anyway."

"True."

 **END CHAPTER ONE.**

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 **I'll be blunt about it. Please review. If you review, updates might come faster. If you don't, I become unmotivated to continue... :(**


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